


no body no crime

by comfortcharacters



Series: evermore collection [5]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Metaverse (Persona 5), Rivalry, maybe one day i’ll stop writing angst but today is not that day, not actually an au but au where akira has an extra one or two brain cells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comfortcharacters/pseuds/comfortcharacters
Summary: Akira is desperately trying to avoid letting Akechi know his secrets.Akechi has his own secrets to hide.(an exploration of akechi’s confidant route)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: evermore collection [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053434
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	1. he thinks i did it, but he just can't prove it...

**Author's Note:**

> as the title implies, this fic is (loosely) inspired by taylor swift's "no body no crime"

Akira is a lot of things, but he isn’t an idiot. 

Well, okay. Maybe he is. A little bit. He’s an idiot in that way that most sixteen year olds are. But he’s starting to think his friends are a little worse off than he is.

Akira, Ann, and Ryuji were hanging out at LeBlanc, Akira working behind the counter and Ann and Ryuji using their special friend privileges to score free coffee and curry. Now that Kamoshida was fully taken care of and the threat of expulsion has disappeared, their minds wandered back to academics for the first time in weeks. With midterms around the corner and his probation hanging over his head, Akira figured he’d use any spare minute he had to at least attempt to do well and keep his place at Shujin. 

Ann and Ryuji had other plans.

“Bro, when are they gonna report on us for a change?” Ryuji said, slouching in the booth and ignoring his homework completely as Akira brought him another serving of curry. “You’d think all the shit that happened with Kamoshida would be enough to make local news.”

The news never mentioned anything about the Phantom Thieves. That seemed to upset Ryuji greatly.

“Oh, Ryuji, come on. You can’t expect them to cover something like that. Not when random people are still having…” Ann paused, trying to think of the right word, “incidents. Psychotic breaks. Something like that.”

Ann paused again, looking around her to ensure the café was still, in fact, empty before continuing on in a whisper. “Everyone thinks Kamoshida was blackmailed, why would they pick up on the Phantom Thieves stuff?”

“But they ain’t even talkin’ about the psychotic stuff this time! They’ve just got _that_ pompous asshole back on TV again,” Ryuji grumbled, pointing at the TV like it personally offended him. “What does he know about _justice_?”

Akira glanced at the screen and, sure enough, some kid around their age was being interviewed on live television. He looked good, Akira noted, and he seemed confident in whatever he was talking about. Something about ethics and morality. Akira was as fascinated by moral dilemmas as the next guy, but Akira tuned it out when it got more philosophical than he bargained for, leaving Ann staring at the screen in vague interest and Ryuji in disgust while he scrubbed their dishes.

Not like Akira would ever have to deal with him, anyway.

###

Akira, as usual, was dead wrong. And Akira, as usual, didn’t realize what he was getting himself into when he chose to provoke the guy ( _Akechi_ , his brain helpfully supplied) into an argument on live television. But he can’t say he regrets it when he sees something shift in this Akechi guy’s face, when Akechi starts to regard him with an air of interest, when he captures the attention of Tokyo’s television darling for a precious few minutes of his time.

He does start to regret it when Akechi starts talking about dead philosophers instead of asking for his number like a normal person, but then Akechi shakes his hand, Akira hears the telltale sign of a confidant connection starting, and Akira realizes he won’t be getting rid of Akechi for a long time.

As he watches Akechi walk away, he can’t bring himself to be mad about it.

### 

He notices Akechi on the street just a few days later and hears Morgana’s voice echoing in his mind, telling him to approach Akechi and pry some information out of him. He also feels the real Morgana shifting impatiently within his backpack, as if his Metaverse powers also make him clairvoyant and he was able to sense Akechi’s presence from thirty feet away. Akira walks up to Akechi, who seems delighted to see him, and is all too quick to invite him to go play billiards. 

Akechi is competitive. Akechi is simultaneously too close and much too far away. Akechi seems to enjoy making everything into a challenge, from playing the game itself, to testing the limits of Akira’s observation skills, to hovering over Akira’s back and holding his arms while teaching him the proper way to hold a cue, daring Akira to say something in response.

Akira likes it more than he should have. 

###

He tells himself that it’s intellectual curiosity that made him accept Akechi’s offer for a café outing. Akechi might think that Akira is the leader of the Phantom Thieves, and there didn’t seem to be a better way to disarm him than this. They just make it to the café when Akira’s phone lights up and he quickly excuses himself, running to the bathroom to check his texts.

_Ryuji: bro where are you_

_Akira: ran into akechi, going to hang with him for a bit_

_Ryuji: bro… you’re going out with Akechi today?_

_Akira: bro it’s not what it looks like. he invited me to a café_

_Ryuji: bro. we were supposed to hit the gym today :(_

Akira sighed. He knew he had tentative plans with Ryuji, but opportunities for investigation were few and far between. They were only a couple of days into Kaneshiro’s Palace, and they couldn’t afford having Akechi connecting the dots any sooner. Akira was confident in his ability to evade suspicion, somehow. 

And if he got to hang out with Akechi while doing it, then even better.

_Akira: it’s for official phantom thieves™ stuff. we’ll catch up and go running tomorrow_

_Ryuji: fine. I’ll get Ann to come with me today_

_Akira: lol. good luck w that._

He comes back and sees the outdoor table Akechi picks out for them, and Akira’s something of a romantic after all, so seeing the desserts and coffee that Akechi ordered for the two of them alongside the street-side view did something to his traitorous heart. 

Akira pushes it aside and tries to invest himself in conversation, listening for clues to detective stuff that might prove useful in the future. Akechi seems content to talk about mundane topics, though, quizzing Akira on his preferences in sweets and coffee instead of his choice of weapon or attack (like his subconscious feared). Akira inadvertently makes mental notes whenever Akechi makes a face at one food opinion or another, memorizing his preferences through every crack in his mask. 

Somehow, Akechi’s dislike of sweets seems like the most genuine thing he could’ve learned about him.

Before he has a chance to think about that too deeply, he notices a swarm of people congregating right outside the café, seemingly intent on meeting the Detective Prince in all his glory. Akechi groans, looking for somewhere to hide.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, my fans can be persistent,” Akechi said sheepishly, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with the few girls still assessing whether or not to approach.

“Come with me,” Akira says, boldly grabbing Akechi’s arm and tugging him into the bathroom. His noises of protest get drowned out along the way, and suddenly, they’re standing face-to-face in a single stall bathroom that’s definitely not big enough for the two of them.

“You need a disguise. Take my glasses and I’ll mess up your hair a bit. No one will be able to tell it’s you after that,” Akira says, avoiding eye contact and barely breathing to avoid taking up more of Akechi’s personal space.

“Are you sure? Don’t you need those to see?” 

“They’re not prescription, they’re more of an aesthetic choice. Helps me blend in a bit more,” Akira replies, wondering a second too late whether that was more honest than he intended to be. “But I think you need them more now.”

“Well. In that case—” Akechi leans in closer, his breath brushing against Akira’s cheek in the compressed space before he gently takes Akira’s glasses off. His hands brush against Akira’s temples in the process, forcing Akira to suppress a full-body shiver and avoid leaning into the touch. 

“How do I look?” Akechi asked, smiling his widest smile as Akira looked at him in wonder. _It’s really not fair,_ Akira thought, _that he still looks good, even now._

“You need a final touch. May I?” Akira asks, his hands hovering over the fullest part of Akechi’s hair. Akechi nods hesitantly, and Akira runs his hands through his hair wildly, messing it up until Akechi looked like a mimicry of his former self. Akira tried not to let his hands linger too long, but he couldn’t keep himself from playing with Akechi’s bangs under the pretense of unfixing them, he couldn’t stop himself from tucking a strand of Akechi’s hair behind his ear for completion, he couldn’t judge himself for wanting to look into Akechi’s eyes and see if he was staring back.

He was.

He saw a challenge. 

He didn’t rise up to it.

###

He tells Ann and Ryuji when they come over, and he’s barely halfway through a brief recap of the stories before Ann is squealing in delight and Ryuji is banging his head against the table, narrowly avoiding slamming his face into the plate of curry that Akira prepared for him.

“You’re finally going on dates!” Ann exclaims, leaning over to ruffle Akira’s hair while he stares at her in confusion.

“With an _asshole_ ,” Ryuji adds, refusing to move his face from the table.

“Guys. I’ve known him for, like, two weeks.”

“Ah, details, details. Are you gonna see him again soon?”

“Ann, don’t encourage this. The guy’s a douchebag,” Ryuji says, scoffing as he pushes the plate further away and mutters to himself about Akechi.

“A cute one! And a potentially useful one,” Ann says, smiling in that way that lets Akira know he’s constantly underestimating her, somehow. “And you better keep me updated on whatever happens. Or else.”

“Um, yes. Yes, ma’am. You got it,” Akira replies, because his self-preservation instinct is strong enough to know when disagreeing with Ann is dangerous. And also, because, all of his outings with Akechi were clearly Phantom Thieves business. And, as such, of course he’d tell the Phantom Thieves everything.

###

Akechi finally called (after weeks of silence), Akira rushed to answer (because he missed him, don’t talk about it), and now Akira’s bailing on Ryuji to hang out with Akechi. It’s becoming something of a pattern.

Akira's getting ready to finally leave LeBlanc, successfully avoiding Morgana's persistent nagging about his "terrible sleep schedule" and "Akira, your eyes are bloodshot, please get some rest," and "I'm going to physically restrain you and _no_ I don't care if I'm in a cat's body while doing it," when his phone buzzes insistently.

_Ann: Hey :)_

_Ann: Akira :)_

_Ann: Hey Akira :)_

_Ann: What’s up :)_

_Akira: … what’s with the smileys_

_Ann: A little birdie told me you’re…_

_Ann: Hanging out with Akechi tonight :)_

_Akira: who told you_

_Ann: Ryuji! Who else knows??_

_Akira: i swore him to secrecy for a reason_

_Ann: We all know that I can be persuasive when I want to be. But!!! Akechi!!! Why did you keep this from me?? I told you not to! Where are you guys going??_

_Akira: it’s nothing major, i promise. just trying to get him off our trail_

_Ann: … By spending your free time going on dates with him?_

_Akira: it’s not a date… i’m just… investigating. official phantom thieves™ business, you know_

_Ann: Ooooh Akira, detectiving the detective now?_

_Akira: he knows SOMETHING… he’s hiding…. something…. i can just feel it ok. you have to trust me_

_Ann: I’ll let you be in denial!! Stay safe!! And send pics!! :) :) :)_

_Akira: ann i swear to god this is why i didn’t tell you_

_Ann: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!! ;)_

_Akira: it’s not a DATE i’m collecting information on our NEMESIS_

_Ann: Whatever you say! :D_

_Why is she always right?_ Akira thought to himself as he stood with Akechi outside the entrance to the jazz club, the bar lights flickering off of Akechi’s hair as he talked endlessly about the different types of jazz. Or the different types of drinks. He was honestly only catching every other word of Akechi’s monologue on their way into the club, continuously distracted by the way Akechi’s hair framed his face, the way Akechi’s hands gestured as he got off on his millionth tangent, the way Akechi’s lips twitched upwards when he realized Akira wasn’t paying attention… wait. Did Akechi ask him a question? Akechi was looking at him expectantly, eyebrows raised and fingers tapping against the menu. Shit. 

“Uh… coffee? Do they have coffee? I’ll take a coffee,” Akira asks, clinging to familiarity in his time of great need and desperation.

Akechi laughs. Not a full-body laugh, not a throaty laugh, a slight chuckle, if anything, but Akechi laughs. Why did Akechi laugh? Did Akira say something stupid? It was a cute laugh, though, and that’s definitely not a train of thought that Akira should be entertaining, especially not now, not when Akechi is right in front of him, when he can probably read all his thoughts or something with his all-powerful detective mind. Akira didn’t even know if the laugh was at his expense. Does it matter if it was? He can’t tell if he should care. He thinks he wouldn’t mind either way. Oh, god, he’s totally going to blow his cover like this, why did he decide to come on a date with this guy, this guy who is actively investigating him, this guy whose life’s mission seems to be bringing law and order into his life, why would he go out with him again, especially after what happened the last time, he can still feel the phantom touch of Akechi’s fingers against his glasses, wait, shit, he’s not paying attention again, oh, god-

“I’m a coffee drinker, as well. Hey—” Akechi calls over the manager, “Can we get two regular coffees, please?”

Akechi turns back at him and smiles. Akira feels his insides turn to goop. He’s supposed to continue the conversation, isn’t he? 

“So, where else do you enjoy coffee, besides at jazz clubs with a stranger?” Akechi asks before Akira has the chance to think of anything, bringing the coffee to his mouth before setting it down with a grimace. “Too hot for my tastes,” he explains, smiling in apology. 

“I actually live in a coffee shop,” Akira blurts, before realizing that the location of his secret meetings with his vigilante friends probably isn’t second (third? Not that he’s counting) date information. Well, he’s in too deep now. 

“You should come and visit me there sometime. I’m a pretty good barista.”

Maybe Akira’s a secret genius. Keep your enemies close. Yes. That’s what he’s doing. Genius, Akira is a genius. 

Does that saying say anything about making coffee for your enemies? Is that allowed?

“I’ll take you up on that. Not like I can say no to coffee from such a charming companion, can I?” Akechi says, leaning back against the chair as the soft sounds of jazz play in the background. Akira tries to mimic his nonchalant pose and nearly falls out of his chair instead. Akechi didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he’s just too polite to mention it, but Akira clears his throat and readjusts himself. 

Maybe that’ll convince Akechi he isn’t Joker, after all. Joker wouldn’t be caught dead being this clumsy. Or awkward. Wasn’t Akira supposed to be smoother than this? 

Akechi chuckles again, in that way that Akira has learned he does before saying something that profoundly embarrasses Akira. 

“You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever brought here. I guess we really do have a strong connection,” Akechi says, looking down into his coffee cup before taking his final sip while Akira stares at him dumbfoundedly. Akechi glances back up before locking eyes with Akira, and Akira realizes all the metaphors about hearts dropping down to stomachs had to be wrong because his heart is firmly lodged in his throat, keeping him from speaking or even breathing as he and Akechi keep staring at each other. Akechi quirks his eyebrow up and smiles again, a bit more knowingly than the interview smile Akira had gotten used to. 

This is bad. Akira is supposed to be the one wearing that smile. Akechi should know nothing. Just how good is his detective’s intuition, anyway? Akira should be concerned.

“It’s getting late. We should go.” Akechi stands abruptly while Akira’s brain stupidly plays catch-up. 

“It was lovely getting a chance to spend some time with you. I hope we get to do it again soon,” Akechi says, holding out his hand to help Akira out of his chair, where Akira’s legs have seemingly forgotten how to function. Akira grabs it, ejects himself from the table too quickly, and promptly forgets to let go, holding on a few seconds too long to be quite normal. His heart has taken up permanent residence near his vocal cords and he just looks on at Akechi in silence.

He still hasn’t dropped his hand.

“Well. I’ll see you around, then,” Akechi says, giving Akira’s hand a gentle squeeze before finally releasing it, leaving Akira standing in the middle of the jazz club, heart pounding as if he ran a marathon.

He suddenly realizes that he hasn’t learned a damn thing about the Phantom Thieves case from Akechi all summer.


	2. ... i think he did it but i just can't prove it...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira and Akechi dance around each other with all the subtlety they can muster (turns out, it's not a lot).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still (loosely) based on "no body no crime" and (heavily) on akechi's confidant route!

Some teens prefer to spend their summer breaks recovering from academic pressures, rediscovering hobbies, maybe catching up with old friends along the way. 

Akira’s been doing what Akira does best: saving his dearest friends from their darkest demons. 

Which, in some capacity, has become something of a hobby for him.

So maybe he has managed to do all of the above. Go figure. 

Futaba’s Palace passes by in a flurry, and Akira has become well-acquainted by now with the strength that runs through his whole body when encountering enemies, with the thrill of the chase in the Metaverse, with the thrumming energy that courses through him when they emerge (almost) unscathed and one day closer to victory.

It’s nothing compared to the electric shock when Akechi bumps into him on the street, smiles at him widely, and invites him to an arcade game. 

Akira hasn’t stepped foot in an arcade in years, but that doesn’t stop him from trailing after Akechi silently, resisting the urge to grab his hand in the middle of the quiet street as they make their way to the game center. He can still feel the weight of Akechi’s hand in his from weeks ago, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it whenever his fingers itched to type out a message to Akechi against his will. 

Akira spaces out until Akechi’s shoving a gun in his hands, and for a split second, it feels like Akira’s darkest nightmares are coming to life.

Akira’s mind runs wild and he begins to genuinely wonder whether this whole arrangement has gone too far. Does Akechi know that Akira’s part of the Phantom Thieves? Why else would Akechi bring him to a shooting game? Is this a test? Is this a prank? Unless, is Akechi--

“Here. Do you normally play shooter games?” Akechi asks, as nonchalant as ever, holding the gun with too much confidence for an amateur while Akira snaps back into reality. 

“Yeah. Tons of them,” Akira lies, because it’s easier than coming up with some excuse for the way a gun fits comfortably in his hand, for the way he molds into a calmer, more functional version of himself around one. “Do you?”

“Oh, no, I’m pretty new at this. Go easy on me, would you?” 

Akira knows he’s lying.

He draws up his gun to the screen and doesn’t say a word. 

###

Akira walked home with the vision of Akechi’s sharp-shooting, intense gaze burned in the back of his mind, playing over and over, trying to understand how this high school student had enough deftness with a gun to beat Akira without breaking a sweat. He unwillingly memorized the lines of Akechi’s body and forced his mind to focus on the almost-comical contrast between his sweater-vest persona and his unflinching shooting stance. 

Akira couldn’t make any sense of it, no matter how hard he tried.

And that night, Akechi called, because Akechi always called now, as if the evening together wasn’t quite enough for him and he needed Akira’s voice as much as Akira needed his. For once, Akira was alone, and he didn’t have to mask the pain on his face when Akechi spoke about his latent insecurities, his heartstrings getting snapped and pulled beyond repair with every word. 

“Anyway, all that is to say that… that was… fun. I had fun,” Akechi said softly over the phone, like he could barely admit to his own enjoyment. Like it was a secret only meant for Akira to hear. 

If Akira had to hold the door to keep himself from falling over at the mental image of Akechi talking to him that way in person, so softly and so gently, then that’s a secret only he would have to know.

###

Akira likes his privacy. Akira likes having safe spaces. And Akira’s never been an _intentionally_ secretive person, so to say, but he’s always had the fortune of never being pried for information or forced out of his comfort zone in his own home.

He should’ve known becoming… whatever the hell he is to Akechi would change that.

“Akechi?” Akira says, pretending not to sound as shocked as he feels at seeing Akechi sitting at the LeBlanc counter like he belongs there, delicately sipping at a coffee while making small-talk with Sojiro. Sojiro, who seems to be tolerating Akechi’s presence much more happily than expected. Akira’s eyes narrow in suspicion. 

And then, Akechi turns his head and smiles. Akira dies inside. This is normal.

“I decided to take you up on your offer, but Boss ended up serving me his coffee instead. It’s really quite good,” Akechi says, turning back to Sojiro with a smile while Sojiro nods, suppressing a smile at Akechi’s compliment. Akira raises his eyebrows at Sojiro’s reaction in surprise and Sojiro huffs, turning back to fiddle with the coffee machine. 

_How did Akechi’s charms manage to work on Sojiro, too?_ Akira wonders, sulking as he remembers the months it took before Sojiro developed a soft spot for him. 

Akira isn’t jealous. That would be absurd. 

“Maybe we can enjoy more of Boss’s coffee tonight?” Akechi offers, snapping Akira’s attention back to himself, as if he knew that Akira’s attention shouldn’t gravitate away from Akechi for more than a moment at a time. And Akira, the fool, lets himself get relaxed, and focuses on getting back into his comfort zone. 

Yes, coffee. Akira can do coffee. He knows his way around coffee, he _definitely_ knows his way around LeBlanc, and Sojiro would be his mandated Akechi buffer, like the wonderful, caring father figure he’s always been. Sojiro would be his hero. He can do this, he can do this-- 

“That is, if you’re not feeling up to anything more strenuous.”

And that was it, Akira is dying, he is dead, he is desperately trying to pass over Akechi’s throw-away comments for his own sanity because he’s sixteen and innuendos from someone like Akechi do horrible things to him. Coffee, coffee with Sojiro, he can do coffee, he can do--

“Kid, you look exhausted. Both of you. Neither of you need coffee. Go take a bath or something, the bathhouse is right across the street,” Sojiro says, pointing in its general direction for Akechi’s sake and interrupting Akira’s thoughts just as he was about to mentally kiss the ground at Sojiro’s feet.

Sojiro is now his mortal enemy. Sojiro only exists as an agent of chaos in Akira’s young and fragile life. 

“That sounds lovely,” Akechi replies, rudely stopping Akira’s thoughts of loathing while Akira glares at the back of Sojiro’s head. He thinks he can hear Sojiro chuckling to himself. The traitor.

“Shall we?” Akechi says, and who is Akira to refuse anything to him?

###

Akechi talks about his childhood, and Akira can’t tell if the vulnerability is a mistake on his part or a calculated effort, but he finds it hard to care. Akira still feels like he understands him better, somehow. When Akechi smiles at him now, a few beats too late to be natural, Akira learns to read and recognize his façade. He sees where his smile is pulled a bit too tight for comfort, when he trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Akira.

Akira reaches out across the water and Akechi flinches before letting Akira grab his arm and give it a squeeze, in some manner that Akira hoped would be comforting. At the motion, Akechi cautiously smiles, settling back in the water and back into their natural rhythm before relentlessly teasing Akira. Akira, the ever-silent sufferer, has to suppress a smile.

###

“Your face is bright red, you know,” Akechi remarks while they’re standing in the locker room, and Akira wishes he had the strength to bite back with the snarky retort that it deserves. To his deepest chagrin, Akira’s energy was all being expended at avoiding direct eye contact with Akechi, who was standing much too close and much too undressed for Akira’s brain to do anything but short-circuit.

Somehow, the locker room feels more intimate than the water. 

“Maybe we are similar, after all,” Akechi says, and Akira realizes he’s been replying on autopilot for the better half of Akechi’s comments. It’s taking all of Akira’s willpower not to stare at the drops of water cascading down Akechi’s back, to get his attention back to the conversation while his hands shake with the force of staying still and appearing calm. He’s desperately trying to keep his heartbeat from pounding so loudly that Akechi would be able to hear it.

He doesn’t think he’s succeeding. 

“Can I put my clothes back on?” Akira blurts mid-reverie, snapping his eyes away from fantasy and back to Akechi’s very-real face, where very-real Akechi is staring back at him with an intensity in his eyes he had been careful to subdue until then. 

Akechi readjusts, bringing his arm over his shoulder and bending his head to the side, inadvertently flexing his muscles and stretching before answering Akira. Akira’s eyes are helpless and out of his control as he watches him, his breath involuntarily getting trapped inside his body, and in a panic, Akira realizes that he isn’t strong enough to endure Akechi, is he? 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Akechi says, moving closer to Akira with every word. Akira stands motionless until Akechi is standing right in front of him, and Akira is tired of avoiding challenges, so he tilts his head ever-so-slightly to look Akechi in the eyes. Akechi’s breath catches and Akira allows himself a smile, watching with glee as Akechi’s eyes grow wider than he had seen before. 

“This isn’t a conversation we should be having naked.” 

And Akechi breaks their eye contact, abruptly grabs his clothes from the bench right next to Akira, and makes some muttered remark about keeping their competition out of the bathhouse – and Akira can’t help but laugh, can’t help but feel the waves of relief and bitter disappointment course through him when Akechi fails the challenge that he created himself. 

“First to leave wins!” Akechi yells, hurrying to get dressed and beat Akira at yet another game. Akira watches on, silently and fondly, making no effort to get dressed himself.

He figures he’ll let Akechi win for tonight. 

And later, when Akechi calls, he doesn’t stop himself from thinking (and overthinking) like he wanted to all those times before.

“Ah, now I’m veering into strange territory,” Akechi says, chuckling to himself.

_Please, veer harder,_ Akira doesn’t say.

“I should let you go.”

_Please, don’t. Just a little while longer._

“See you soon.”

_Not soon enough._

###

October passes in a blur of pain and revelations. As Akira hugs Haru as tightly as he can, her tears racking her body and her sobs forcing hiccups from her throat, Akira struggles to find the words to comfort her. He struggles to find the words to address his team, who all stare down at their hands as if they’re capable of murder. 

They know they’re not. The public doesn’t. And the Phantom Thieves, in the aftermath of it all, are all confused, but Akira knows what he’s too afraid to admit.

Akechi’s more popular than ever. 

Akechi’s too invested.

Akechi knows how to handle a gun, Akechi has endless rage and sadness bubbling under his skin, Akechi knows too much.

He thinks of texting Ann, but he can’t tell if he’s the one losing it.

( _Spoiler,_ Akira thinks weeks later, _I wasn’t losing it._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'll make this a fun akira-POV study of realizing akechi is sus throughout the game while also being horny
> 
> also me: guess i have to revisit every single confidant event, watch hours of gameplay, and write it in excruciating detail or Else 
> 
> this project ran away from me and there will be more


	3. he did it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira faces reality, one day at a time.

Akechi exposes the Phantom Thieves. He exposes himself a bit harder.

Akira wishes he could say he knew it all along. And maybe a part of him did. Maybe the part that looked at Akechi with fascination also regarded him with fear, buried deep beneath the surface. Maybe Akira says these things to make himself feel better when the Phantom Thieves are forced to accept Akechi’s terms and disband after Sae’s palace, and Akira struggles not to blame himself for not evading Akechi’s calculating glances harder. 

They fight side by side. They work well together. 

Akechi plans to kill him in a matter of weeks. 

Akira used to count the days between their outings. Now, Akira struggles to subdue the nausea he feels when Akechi pretends to be happy to see him, waiting outside the subway station, all fake smiles and polished niceties. 

Akira wants to punch him in the throat.

“Want to play billiards again? For old times’ sake?” Akechi asks, eyes twinkling, and Akira wonders what he’d look like with a black eye.

“Even if I only have a little time, I’d like to spend it with you, but you must know that by now,” Akechi continues in response to Akira’s silence, while Akira’s mind supplies an endless monologue of venom.

_Oh, you’d like to spend some time with me? Before you put a bullet in my head?_ Akira thinks, glaring in Akechi’s direction.

Akechi keeps talking. He’s a liar. He’s lying. He’s such a liar. Has Akira ever seen such a liar before? Is Akira going on a date with his future-killer? This isn’t a date. It’s not a date, but it’s weird. He doesn’t like it. 

How is Akechi _still_ talking? 

Dead. Akechi wants him dead. And Akira’s playing billiards like everything’s fine.

Akira makes a trick shot while staring directly at Akechi ( _I know you’re gonna kill me, you coward_ ) and Akechi whistles under his breath.

“Wow, you’re determined to win, aren’t you?” Akechi asks, grinning at the challenge, while Akira wonders how many ways he can beat Akechi up with his cue. And he’d try, he really would, but he’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves, he’s emotionally mature, he’s supposed to be an expert on keeping feelings and fears at bay and smiling impassively through it all.

He wishes he had the energy to rise up to Akechi’s hints and taunts and teases because it’s too kind to let Akechi get away with it. It’s almost too easy that Akechi can connect billiards to crime so nonchalantly, it’s too convenient that he talks about target elimination like he’s talking about the weather, and it’s much too frustrating to stand by and watch while Akechi makes an outing feel like an interrogation while he plans Akira’s demise the whole time. 

Akechi talks about losing control, Akira scoffs, and Akechi’s hands shake. He misses a shot for the first time during their game. Akechi clenches his jaw and grabs the side of the table before meeting Akira’s venomous gaze. 

“Sometimes,” Akechi starts, gritting his teeth, before letting out a shaky breath and steadying himself, “the ball can strike many unrelated… obstacles in its path.” 

_Obstacles,_ Akira thinks, _is that what you call friends?_

“Do you see what I mean?” Akechi says, staring at Akira and seemingly pleading with him to hear him. “Akira?”

Akira stares back blankly. 

“Are we _still_ playing this game?” Akechi asks. He looks desperate. Akira knows desperate. He can match desperate any day of the week. When it comes to Akechi, Akira has no problem one-upping desperate. 

“Absolutely we are,” Akira says, shoving past Akechi to set up and execute the most flawless shot of the game. Akechi manages his congratulations, looking over at Akira with some degree of apprehension. 

Akira nearly rams the cue into Akechi’s stomach. If all his anger was channeled into that one shot, then that’s his business.

###

“Akira? Do you want to take a walk?” Akechi asks, once cues are safely stored and Akira feels more composed (and less likely to stab Akechi with them). Akira wants to say no, but his legs follow Akechi on their own, meandering with Akechi to an alley near the station. 

Akechi turns to face him and Akira sees him suppress a grimace. 

“You and I are similar, Akira,” Akechi starts, and the light shouldn’t play off his hair so beautifully, especially not now, Akira wants to scream at him and punch him, “We’re both victims of the system and can rise above all these crimes we witness.” 

_You’re going to put a bullet in my head._

“Yet _I’m_ doing so as a detective…”

_You’re going to kill me._

“… And you’re acting as a Phantom Thief.”

_I can’t believe you’re going to kill me._

“Our stances couldn’t be more different, Akira.”

_Join us. Please, join us._

“Join us,” Akira blurts out loud this time, desperate to save himself from death, desperate to save his teammates from prosecution. 

Desperate to save Akechi from himself. 

“I will, for now,” Akechi starts, hesitating at the look in Akira’s eyes. Something shifts in his demeanor. 

“Join me instead. Abandon your teammates.” And if Akira didn’t know better, he’d think Akechi looks desperate again, even a fraction as desperate as he had felt about winning that damn billiards match, even a fraction as desperate as Akira feels about their futures.

“You know I won’t do that,” Akira starts, laughing from the sheer absurdity of it all, in spite of himself, in spite of the massive ticking time bomb standing in front of him, and leans closer to Akechi.

“You’re my rival, after all.”

Akechi looks shocked for a moment before managing to laugh with Akira, both of them feeling crazed with it. And to the whole world, they’d look like nothing more than two teenagers making the most of their high school years.

Akira laughs harder at the irony.

###

Akechi calls. Akechi always calls. Akira’s face burns and his ears ring and all his senses are heightened. He’s expecting the unexpected at all times from Akechi now, but Akechi keeps it all mundane, asking if Akira got home safe because there’s nothing Akechi cares more about than Akira’s _safety_ , apparently.

Akechi asks to chat. Akira can’t say no to Akechi. He doesn’t want to say no, not even now.

Akechi delivers back-handed compliments like a champ. 

“Your spirit definitely deserves praise,” Akechi says offhandedly, and Akira tries his best to keep his involuntary blush at bay, but the smallest praise from Akechi affects Akira in profoundly unexpected ways and Akira was _not_ expecting to find this out about himself tonight. Akira curses his own body for betraying him.

“Why did you get so competitive against me?” Akechi asks, as if he needs to ask, as if Akira won’t repeat that they’re rivals as a catch-all explanation for their unexplainable bond. As if Akira would ever mention that he lives for the moments when Akechi’s eyes take on a rare intensity, that Akira falls asleep to visions of Akechi towering over him with a gaze of superiority that he loves against his best wishes. 

Akira should’ve known he was in too deep when his teammates quietly concluded that Akechi’s a murderer and the first thing Akira thought of was how to save him.

He’s been silent for too long, but so has Akechi. Maybe they’ve evolved past the need for words.

Akechi says his goodbyes and hangs up the phone cavalierly, as if nothing’s changed, as he isn’t orchestrating Akira’s murder, and Akira stands at his doorstep, feeling shocked, angry, and slightly turned on. 

He doesn’t have the time to think about it.

###

“Mementos, today. Are you coming?”

It’s been less than a week since their last meeting, but Akira recognizes Akechi’s tone and knows he shouldn’t mess with him today, unless he wants a premature bullet in his brain.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but Akechi immediately pointing a gun at him once they get to Mementos didn’t make the list. Maybe he’s getting that premature bullet after all. Or, at the very least, some practice for the real thing.

At Akira’s questioning gaze, Akechi formally challenges him to the Mementos fight, and Akira can do nothing but agree. His pent-up anger was begging for a healthy release, and who better to release it on than the source of his frustration? 

###

They fight and they explode, temporary teammates facing off as enemies for the first time. Akira’s never seen Akechi more clearly than he sees him now. The impassioned resentment in his eyes belies the innocence of his pure white princely uniform, and Akira wonders how many layers of protection the real Akechi was buried beneath. 

Akechi strikes him and it hurts. Akira shouldn’t be surprised that he likes it. 

Akira stops holding back and attacks him just hard enough to silence him, but Akechi’s never gone down silently, and he screams in blind rage as he collapses to the ground. He kneels on the ground and looks up at Akira with a sneer.

“No wonder you’re the leader of the Phantom Thieves, you’ve caught up to me on this front already, too—"

“Are you satisfied yet?” Akira says impatiently, interrupting Akechi’s self-serving monologue.

“Of course not.” 

_Me neither. I’m never satisfied when it comes to you._

“But, if we went any further here, we’d both go beyond the point of no return.”

Akechi says it like a promise. Akira doesn’t know if he intends to keep it.

###

They make it out of Mementos, standing as new people in the shadows of who they were merely hours ago. They’re facing each other, neither strong enough to turn away, and Akechi adjusts his clothes once before staring at Akira with a glare that Akira’s never seen on his face before.

“I’m going to be entirely honest with you,” he says, and _oh,_ he’s getting a lot closer and a lot more venomous, something indiscernible flashing in his eyes. Akira should probably be scared, but he lost his self-preservation instinct somewhere in Akechi’s eyes, and he has nothing left to fear as Akechi invades Akira’s personal space. 

“I hate you.”

And that’s the last warning Akira gets before Akechi grabs him by the back of his neck and pulls him in, and Akira barely has time to think _finally_ before his brain shuts off all thoughts, focusing only on the subtle scent of Akechi’s hair, the coarseness of Akechi’s school uniform against his fingertips, the sound of sharp inhales and shaky exhales echoing through the empty station. Akechi walks them against the nearest wall and Akira has to resist the urge to collapse into Akechi’s arms like he belongs there, bringing his arms around Akechi’s neck and sighing contentedly. Akechi harshly bites Akira’s lip in response, and Akira should be mad about it, but his brain short-circuits and he holds on tighter instead.

Akechi’s listing off all the ways Akira irritates him, wasting what little breath he has on criticism, but the rush of Akira’s heartbeat blissfully shields him from Akechi’s bluntness, dragging his fingers down the sharp outline of Akechi’s cheekbones instead.

But if Akira was mentally prepared for Akechi’s possessive anger, for an Akechi full of rage and anger, he definitely wasn’t ready for how soft and pliant and _warm_ Akechi became as soon as Akira did as little as run his hands tentatively through his hair, holding him like he has value in this world.

Akira abuses his new-found privilege profusely.

###

Akechi’s the first to pull away.

“You’re the one person,” Akechi says gasping for breath, “I refuse to lose to.” Akira smiles at his challenge fondly, expecting to see a matching look on Akechi’s face, but all he sees is Akechi’s mask pulled up right where it belongs, and something foreboding settles in Akira all over again. 

The air around them grows colder with every passing minute and Akira has to keep himself from shivering as Akechi steps away.

Akechi’s on another monologue, but Akira can’t hear him over the sirens going off in his own head at the carefully-calculated blank stare in Akechi’s eyes.  
Akechi throws his glove at Akira, almost as an afterthought. It smacks Akira across the face. He barely notices it.

Akechi’s bare hand trembles, ever so slightly.

Akira accepts his duel blindly, mind still racing and heart still pounding. Akechi gives him his interview smile and Akira’s heart begins to shatter, almost in slow motion. 

###

Weeks later, a part of Akira bleeds out on the floor of the interrogation room. Akechi walks away. 

Real Akira ghosts the streets and wonders if they ever had a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my own sanity, i had to end this before the engine room because i cannot watch that scene without weeping
> 
> i gave myself a challenge within this fic to reframe the existing dialogue in akechi's confidant route as much as possible... and all i have to say is that it is a CRIME that akechi is not a pursuable romantic option

**Author's Note:**

> 5th installment of the evermore series, and my first multi-chapter ever! 
> 
> this was supposed to be a one-shot whoops


End file.
